


Follower Celebration Collection

by pressedinthepages



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Other, blurbs, eskel and geralt need reading glasses, silliness, snuggles, softe, uncle!eskel, will add more tags as they come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29186319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressedinthepages/pseuds/pressedinthepages
Summary: In celebration of reaching 300 followers on tumblr, I hosted a blurb-fest. Each chapter contains a ficlet based on a pairing and one-word prompt :)
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Eskel, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	1. Sonofabitch (Lambert/Aiden)

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will be titled with the requested paring and prompt

Lambert’s boots sloshed through bog water quietly, barely pushing it out of the way for him to trek. He flexed his fingers on the hilt of his silver sword as the wind brought the wet scent of rot and decay stronger with every step that he took. It was a delicate balance that he tred this day, for he had conflicting agendas.

On the one hand, Lambert really wanted to be quiet. The contract was for a water hag that had taken a liking to human flesh. Hags liked to reside in bogs, along with just about every other necrophage in the first third of the bestiary. Lambert could afford to take his time working his way through the thick air to keep from alerting whatever else may have been lurking beneath the surface. 

However, the alderman had informed Lambert that someone else, another Witcher, had shown up just that morning for the same contract. So, if Lambert hurried, he may find the hag first and be able to collect the payment himself. Maybe he’d even be able to afford a warm bath and a warmer woman at the inn.  _ Ahh, one could hope- _

__ A shriek pierced through the air and Lambert whirled around, finding the source of the noise. Far off, further than a human eye would be able to see in the soupy mist, Lambert saw the flash of a sword and the hunched gait of a water hag.

_ Shit. _

__ He took off running, using any higher land he could for his heavier, force driving steps. The hag had her back to Lambert as he grew closer and closer, fully concentrated on her other opponent. Once he was close enough Lambert curled and thrust his hand, sending a stream of fire from his fingers over her back. She screamed and turned to him, grasping out with her talons to catch him.

But a different sword chopped off her arm before Lambert could fall victim to her. She whirled back and around, too slow to follow the other Witcher’s quick footwork. Lambert took the opportunity to swing his sword high and strong, lopping the hag’s head off with one final blow. 

The bog fell silent save for the sounds of two Witchers breathing heavily, their heartbeats echoing in the other’s ears. Lambert took the opportunity to glance at the other man, his eyes catching the cat-head medallion hanging heavily around his neck. He was about Lambert’s height with a trim waist and slender shoulders, though they looked broader at first glance due to the short-sleeved armor he wore. His skin was the color of warm honey and his hair fell in dark waves over his cheeks, and he had a scar that cut straight across the top of his nose. 

“Were you  _ trying  _ to light me on fire?” The other Witcher asked, sheathing his sword and cocking his hip. 

Lambert scoffed, following suit. “You’re welcome, more like. Seemed to have your hands full.”

He rolled his eyes, not quite the same molten gold of Lambert’s. They had a tinge of green, like light filtering through the first leaves of spring. “I had everything under control, actually. Some cats like to get practice while they can.”

Lambert stepped forward, his feet pushing through mud and hag remains. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll be taking the head now to collect the reward.”

He watched the Cat step closer too, almost to arm’s reach. “And if I do mind? I got here first, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Maybe so, but I’m the one who killed it!”

The other Witcher got very close, uncomfortably so, but Lambert didn’t feel so threatened as to want to draw his sword. “Just because you wanted to be quick and boring doesn’t mean you get to steal my contract!”

Lambert blinked as his personal space was suddenly encroached upon. He wagged his finger in the other man’s face, feeling very much like Vesemir in that moment. “Now you listen here. I’m not here to critique your fighting, I just need coin. So get out of my way and let me-”

And then, I shit you not, the Cat surged forward and pressed his lips firmly against Lambert’s. Lambert was shocked into stillness, every muscle tensing before he realized just what was happening. Once he did, though, he allowed himself to relax for a moment and kiss him back. Not that he would ever admit that.

After a moment the other Witcher broke away, still staying close to Lambert with a stupid smile on his face. 

And Lambert, bless him, punches him.

“SonofaBITCH!”

The Cat had a little trickle of blood running down his nose and caught Lambert’s fist as he swung again. He shifted his foot and notched it behind Lambert’s knee, pulling him to the ground and pouncing on top of him. He settled his weight on Lambert’s hips and crossed his arms, effectively pinning him in place.

“Why’d you punch me??”

Lambert sputtered, seemingly traveling through all 5 stages of grief before settling firmly back into anger, his favorite. “Why’d you kiss me?!?!”

The Witcher atop him shrugged, wiping the blood away from his nose with the back of his hand. “You’re cute, but you were being  _ very  _ loud.”

Lambert felt the weight suddenly leave him as the Cat stood, holding out a hand to help him up. He grimaced before sliding his own hand in, rolling his shoulder as he got to his feet. He adjusted his grip on the man, feeling the warmth of his hand through his glove. Lambert sighed, glancing back to the hag’s corpse.

“Split the reward?”

The other Witcher smiled, big and toothy and his eyes glinted with amusement. “It would be a pleasure.”

“Lambert. That’s my name,” he breathed, glancing back down to the other man’s lips, wishing he could feel them once more.

“Aiden.”


	2. GodsDammit (Geralt/Jaskier)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by @sometimesiwrite :)

“Oh,  _ godsdammit!” _

__ The curse was accompanied by the untuned twang of a lute, the sound of ripped linen, and the scent of blood, wrenching Geralt out of his meditation by the fireplace. The inn had been relatively quiet for hours, most of the guests having retired to bed hours before. Geralt lept to his feet, prepared to defend himself and the life of his bard within the span of a human heartbeat. 

However, that didn’t seem necessary. Light spilled into the room from the open door leading to the hallway, bathing said bard in all his...glory. Jaskier’s hair flopped down into his eyes as he huffed, gently setting his precious instrument on the floor by the bed. His doublet was thrown over one shoulder and his chemise was untucked and askew. 

“Geralt!” He exclaimed, throwing himself dramatically onto the bed. “The damned door has a nail sticking out of it. And it nicked me!”

Geralt tilted his head and examined the doorframe, finding not a stray nail, but instead a thick splinter of wood jutting out at an angle. “No worries of tetanus for you.”

He shut and latched the door, lighting the candles around the room before sitting at Jaskier’s side. “Let me see.”

The bard turned over and sat up, shifting slightly so that Geralt could see where he had been cut. Jaskier’s trousers were torn high up on his thigh and stained with a tinge of red. “Oh Geralt, shall this be my demise? Is this the end of the great Jaskier, destined to be taken asunder by a godsforsaken piece of tinder?”

Geralt rolled his eyes, pinning Jaskier with a shake of his head. “Stop being silly and take off your pants.”

Jaskier smirked and stood, albeit with a wince. “If only you knew how often I’ve dreamed of you whispering those very same words to me.”

“Would you rather I rip them off?”

“While that may be another distinct fantasy of mine, I’d rather save that for an evening wrapped up with you.”

Geralt smiled a bit as Jaskier slipped out of his trousers. The cut was minimal, the bleeding having already stopped. Geralt gently rubbed a healing salve into the firm flesh of Jaskier’s thigh, feeling the strong thudding of his heart beneath the surface of his skin. “You should be more careful, Jaskier. If you injure a leg, you’ll have a terribly hard time keeping up with Roach and I.”

Jaskier scoffed, resting his hand on Geralt’s shoulder with a smile of his own. “As if you wouldn’t let me ride her.”

“It’s not about me letting you do anything. Roach is not your biggest fan.”

“Oh please! Roach loves me, if only because I give her sugar cubes.”

“You’re going to make her fat.”

“All the more reason! She deserves some indulgence, having to trek across this Continent through muddied waters and over the corpses of her master’s bested enemies.”

Geralt hummed, pulling Jaskier to sit astride his lap. “And you? Should I indulge you?”

Jaskier brushed his nose against Geralt’s and pressed their foreheads together. “You never have to indulge me, my Witcher. I will always gladly follow in your stead, for you are my indulgence.”


	3. Baking (Uncle!Eskel & Ciri, Geralt/Eskel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by @heartoferebor

“Okay, Swallow,” Eskel crunched his brow, deciphering the recipe on the weathered pages in his hands, “now just sprinkle the cinnamon sugar over top,  _ gently.” _

__ Ciri, barely 7 summers, rolled her eyes at him and lifted the bowl. She grabbed some of the mixture between her fingers and started carefully spreading it over the top of the loaf. The sugar glinted in the light coming from the fire as it found its place. “Like that, Uncle Eskel?”

He smiled, still not quite used to the moniker. “Yeah, perfect. Now, uh...hang on, I can’t read this next bit…”

Geralt peered over his shoulder, his face scrunching up as he too squinted at the paper. Ciri could barely stifle a giggle at the image, the two big burly Witchers struggling to make out the recipe for a sweet loaf. 

Geralt hummed and Eskel could feel the vibration of Geralt’s chest against his back. “Need to bake it.”

Now it was Eskel’s turn to roll his eyes. “Thanks for the insight,  _ Professor _ . I’m trying to figure out for how long.”

Geralt nudged him playfully in the shoulder as he got a weird look in his eyes. He suddenly turned and stepped out of the kitchen area with his arms waving wildly. Ciri quirked an eyebrow at Eskel as she looked about ready to chase after him. 

“No worries,” Eskel said, placing the parchment down on the workbench. There was a peaceful moment of silence as they both held their breaths before it was broken by an aggressive sneeze. Like, shake the walls of the castle, sneeze. “He’s kind of sensitive to raw cinnamon. He’s fine once it’s baked, but it tickles his nose.”

Ciri laughed a little bit as she heard Geralt sneeze again. “I thought Witchers weren’t ticklish?”

Eskel smirked as he took the loaf tin and set it atop the grate in the fireplace, where only embers remained. “It’s a secret, so you can’t tell anyone. Papa Vesemir’s knees are ticklish, and so is Uncle Lambert’s chin. Geralt’s tummy is ticklish too, but you have to be careful. They’re all  _ very  _ protective of where they may be vulnerable.”

Ciri nodded, filing that information away for later. “And you, Uncle Eskel? Where are you ticklish?”

Eskel wagged his finger as he peeked into the hallway, seeing Geralt blowing his nose dramatically into an old rag. “Ah ah ah, no. Not giving that one away. One never gives away his weaknesses.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to figure it out for myself!” Ciri laughed, her silver hair falling loose from the bun atop her head.  _ Geralt needs help with that. _

__ Eskel shook his head at the young princess, relishing in the sounds of her laughter refreshing these hallowed walls. “I suppose you will, young one.”


	4. Warm (Geralt/Eskel)

Scorpion was priority number one after getting through the gate of Kaer Morhen. Eskel, bone-tired and yearning for a hot meal, unloaded his packs and brushed him down before heading inside. As the heavy wooden doors clanged shut behind him he opened his jerkin, letting Lil’ Bleater bound out in search of something to nibble on. 

He sighed in relief, his senses filling with the scents of his home, his family. The spice of Lambert, heading straight for the kitchen. Vesemir’s deeper, mulled scent, engrained in the wood and stone and air. And Geralt, dark and light and everything in between, settling deep in Eskel’s bones and calling out to him. None of the other Witchers were in the main corridor, but Eskel knew they were home.

Eskel’s feet fell heavy as he pondered climbing the flights of stairs towards his chambers. It was not a lengthy ponder, for Eskel instead turned to the sprawled out furs before the raging fire. Not caring a bit for the mess, he stripped away his heavy cloak and jerkin, letting them fall to the ground with a thud as he pulled off his gloves. His boots were next, all abandoned just outside of arms’ reach of the thick fur. 

Eskel knelt, threading his fingers through the dense knots in the fur before he slid onto his stomach. He breathed in deeply through his nose, holding the air for as long as he could, languishing in the pure relief of finally being able to let his guard down within his own walls. He sighed as he let out the breath, his muscles sagging beneath him as the fire warmed him to the core. His eyes fell shut, his mind finally falling quiet as the crackles from the embers kept him company. 

Eskel wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when he felt a much more all-encompassing warmth wrap around him from behind. His cheeks relaxed into a lazy grin as a strong nose pushed against the back of his neck. The chest behind him rumbled and a pair of legs intertwined with his own, a pair of hands settling on the soft flesh of Eskel’s stomach. 

“You’re home,” Geralt hummed into his ear. Eskel sank into his grasp, letting go of the last tethers pinning him outside of the castle. 

“Took you long enough,” Eskel whispered with a smirk, “I’ve been laying here long enough to get plenty warm and quite the appetite.”

“Didn’t want to wake you, you were snoring.”

Eskel huffed, sliding his fingers in between Geralt’s. “I don’t snore, Wolf.”

He could feel the smile on Geralt’s face against the nape of his neck. “You do, it’s pretty damned adorable.”

Eskel, wrapped tightly in Geralt’s arms, warm inside and out, sank fully into the breadth of Geralt’s chest. There weren’t many on the Continent who Eskel could feel safe within, but Geralt always took the number one spot. “We should stay here, just for a while longer.”

Geralt let his thumb stroke lazily over the back of Eskel’s hand and breathed him in, sunshine glinting off of freshly fallen snow. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading :) you can find me on tumblr @pressedinthepages


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